


Cigarettes

by Writing-Rammstein (writingfanfic)



Category: Rammstein
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 12:51:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13659360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingfanfic/pseuds/Writing-Rammstein
Summary: For the prompt: 'can i have one where you're the gf of Schneider & he notices you're having a panic attack over crowds at a party or something and he takes you outside to chill and cuddle you or sommat <3'Ofc! Cute adorable Schneider feelsy shit.





	Cigarettes

There are too many people here.

You plaster on a fake smile, and raise your drink to your lips once more; you are trying very hard to be the good WAG, although being a WAG for Rammstein involves mixing with an infinitely more interesting group of people than football, you observe, but there is a time when too much is just too much, and right now, you can feel your heart rate rising through the roof - or at least, your heart beating through the roof of your mouth.

“ _…Doom_!”

You turn, and your boyfriend slides his arm around your waist, smiling at the guy who is approaching him.

“How ya doin’, buddy…” The guy is so American it is jarring, and he begins to chat to Christoph genially but vocally; you are stood there again, and you can hear every conversation in the place. Your senses are overloaded; you take a gulp of the wine, and then Christoph squeezes you.

“-my girlfriend, (Y/N).” You smile weakly, and the guy grins, leaning forward to kiss your cheek in greeting. His cologne is harsh, and you find your head pounding a little, and you step back, smiling at him, before drinking the rest of your wine in mild panic. Your heart is fluttering now, and as the guy hi-fives Christoph before leaving, he turns to you. “What is happening?”

“Chris, I need some air,” you say, quietly, and he immediately, without even questioning, sweeps his arm around you and guides you to the door, pulling a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket as an excuse.

“They are Till’s, so do not comment,” he says, quietly, and you nod. You don’t think you can open your mouth right now. You might be sick. “What is the matter? Are you okay?” His blue eyes are so full of earnestness and fear that you feel guilty for worrying him, but right now, you just sink down to the steps, and take in a ragged breath. You realise you are shaking. God, everyone in there probably thought you were tweaking out. “Are you having a, uh, panic attack?”

You nod, still trying to take in deep breaths - your cheeks are burning, and you feel guilt and shame, which obviously is not making the panic attack better. You lean your head against the cold of the metal handrail, and Christoph sits next to you, perching on the concrete steps in the scuzzy back alley of the venue.

“Why are you having a panic attack?” he asks, gently, and you shake your head, nuzzling your head under his chin; he pulls you close, and gently strokes your arm. “Please, explain to me.”

“I… it was too loud,” you say, voice hoarse and miserable, and he nods slowly. “I just n-need a minute…”

“I wanted to leave anyway. Everybody is so pushy. Everybody thinks they are your friend.” He huffs, and you close your eyes. “Would you like to go now?”

“What? Home?” you ask, and he nods.

“Let’s just… go. We can sneak out.” He smiles at you, and you see the bright sunshine in that smile. “We can pick up some food to go on the way home.”

He kisses your cheek, and you nod, smiling a little as your heart returns to something approaching normal. You are still shaking, and he takes off his leather jacket, drawing it around your shoulders, and you kiss him softly, fingers gently toying with his dark curls before he pulls back, grinning. He stands up, and pulls you to your feet, and you make your way out of the alleyway and around to where you have parked your car. You are cruising down the road, hand on his leg, when he suddenly gasps, eyes wide.

“…I owe Till a packet of cigarettes,” he says, and you feel in the pocket, before giggling. “ _Verdammt_ …”


End file.
